


Stress Relief

by Spookbeetle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Bondage, Crying, Dom/sub, Edging, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Knifeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 19:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21062312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spookbeetle/pseuds/Spookbeetle
Summary: Rachel's been feeling tense at work, Cutter is kinky as the seven hells and just so happy to be of assistance! Knives are fun, kids.





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

> I love Rachel but someone needs to turn her into a sobbing, stuttering mess once in a while, you know? I JUST LOVE VILLAINS AND THINK THEY ALL DESERVE TO GET SOME. This fic originated from a horny, horny place and I have basically no idea how well it turned out, frankly. (You could perhaps tell me in the comments, dear reader...) And, uh, aftercare is important and healthy no matter how many or how few feelings are involved in your sexytimes!

Rachel Young sat demurely on a stylish black chair in Cutter’s stylish, empty apartment, waiting for the arrival of her boss. She had her legs crossed at the ankles and in her lap was her phone, which she was using to edit a list of employees. The employees on said list had all been present at a rather unfortunate incident in her department the previous week and would have to be… dismissed. Such a shame. At least she wouldn’t have to put too much effort into it- and she had other, more pressing matters to attend to. Cutter had instructed her to be here, at this precise time, and she wasn’t entirely sure what it was he wanted. Hopefully nothing lethal. She tried to put it out of her mind. After several minutes, she heard the key turn in the lock, so she put her phone on the glass coffee table and stood up, brushing her hands down her skirt to smooth out creases.  
‘Rachel!’  
He gave her a bright grin- but that could mean anything.  
‘You asked to see me, Marcus?’  
‘Yes, yes I did.’  
‘…What do you need from me?’  
‘Ah, you see, this time it’s more a case of what you might need from me!’ he clapped his hands together for emphasis.  
‘What… I might need… from you?’  
‘That’s right!’  
‘Can you elaborate on that, sir?’  
‘I sure can, Rachel. See, it just so happens that you are in my employ, yes? And not only that, you are possibly my most valuable employee! And not only that, but I care about you- well, as much as a person like me can care about a person, I suppose!’ he chuckled.  
‘Thank you, sir.’ This was… strange. It was unlike Marcus to tie himself so obviously to anyone but Pryce.  
‘I watch you, Rachel. Because I care. I notice things. And lately, I’ve been noticing that you seem tense.’  
Well, that was a surprise.  
‘Tense?’  
‘Yes. And I can’t have my employees feeling tense, can I?’  
‘No, sir.’  
‘It might lead to… incidents.’  
‘Yes, sir.’  
‘So! I thought we could work out some of that tension you have. Together. Now.’  
She raised an eyebrow.  
‘You plan on giving me a massage, sir?’  
He laughed again.  
‘Careful with that cheek, young lady- you could go and get yourself into trouble. No, I was rather thinking that I’d fuck you. It wouldn’t be the first time, only now I suppose we have more of a solid aim. Does that sound like something you could use?’  
Oh.  
‘You’re probably right, sir. It could help me relax.’  
She allowed herself to smile slightly at him- not putting the moves on, he’d see through it in a heartbeat, and she wasn’t so naïve as to think he’d appreciate her attempts. Sometimes she didn’t even know if he was attracted to her.  
As if he’d plucked the thought out of her head, he said ‘You look neat as a pin, as always, Rachel. I like that about you.’  
‘Thank you, sir.’ She could have returned the compliment but she knew that he knew he was an attractive man- he’d chosen to design himself that way, after all.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and flipped them back once. Time to get it on, she thought to herself. He walked up to her until he was close to crowding her space and she had to back up very slightly until she hit the kitchen island.  
‘Up we go!’ he said, putting his large hands around her waist and lifting her onto the counter. She felt the warmth of his palms through the black fabric of her blouse- strange; she’d expected him to be cold. Lifting her was obviously no effort at all for him, his expression didn’t change at all, and she wasn’t light. He smiled down at her. ‘Now, let’s see if we can’t do something about this little problem of yours.’ He was treating her like a child, something she was hardly surprised by. She hoped, in fact, that he'd get kinky and rough with her. She could really use it.

He got on his knees- she tried to suppress a delighted little shiver seeing him stare calmly up at her from the floor- and got out a slim delicate pair of scissors. Other people might feel the cold onset of fear start to creep in but she allowed herself a jolting thrill. He took one stocking-clad foot into his hands and smoothly removed the black heeled shoe, doing the same to the other foot and then returning to the first, smoothing his fingers along the curve of her arch, across her ankles. She let out a soft hum of air. Taking the scissors, he pulled the tip of the stocking away from her toes and cut it, not stopping to look at her reaction, just continuing up the foot. Snip-snip-snip-snip. She stayed as still as she could as he moved gently, precisely, up her calf, past her knee, reaching the hem of her blue skirt where it rested on her thigh and sliding his fingers underneath. He cut the right leg of the stocking all the way up to the waistband, not being able to see its progress under the skirt but knowing that the line would be perfectly straight. The blades of the scissors were cold against her skin, and Rachel stayed perfectly still while she worked. He had chosen to go up the outside of her leg, of course, but she could feel herself getting wetter and wetter. Finishing the first leg, he stroked his hands down out of her skirt again and started on the second foot.

When he’d finished slicing her stockings up both legs, she could tell that he could feel the heat between her thighs by the little chuckle he gave. He said nothing and snipped his way up the side of her skirt. It had a zipper on the back, as she was sure that he knew, but he worked his way up to her waist, saying nothing. He then took her small, manicured hand in his own and, to her surprise, kept it there while he started on the expensive cream blouse she wore, cutting up from her cuff to her collar, moving the blades carefully over her shoulder towards her neck, the sleeve falling gradually away as it was severed. His thumb moved in slow circles in the middle of her palm and it was a conscious effort for her not to lean into the warmth of his body. He was careful to avoid her bra strap, as he had been with her underwear. Unwrapping her, like a disciplined child with an especially well-wrapped present, careful not to let his anticipation of the contents distract from his appreciation for the presentation. He cut the other sleeve as well, pausing close to the top to use his fingers to free the long dark hairs trapped against her collar so as not to cut them too. He rested his hand lightly across her throat for a moment; spanning more than halfway around her neck, thumb facing inward. She clenched her thighs subtly, careful not to disturb the sliced fabric of her skirt. She could tell he didn’t miss the motion- nothing could escape Mr Cutter’s attention. After a still second, he brought the blades together, severing the last inch of fabric and causing the two halves of the blouse to slide softly down her torso, falling into her lap and onto the table behind her.  
‘Lie back on the counter for me, Ms Young.’  
He pushed her shoulder gently until she was horizontal, cupping her head with his hand so she wouldn’t hit it against the wood. Then he tugged the stockings and skirt easily away from her, lightly pushing a hand across the backs of her folded thighs so her ass was lifted off the table and she wasn’t sitting on any fabric. He laid the destroyed garments carefully on the table next to her, smoothing his hands across them, and helped her return to a seating position with a hand on her shoulder, now only in a black bra and underwear. He stared calmly at her, watching her breathe in and out.  
‘You’re doing so splendidly well, Rachel.’  
‘Thank you, sir.’

He cut the underwear away quickly, bringing the blades together only once either side of her hips, the black lace slicing with no trouble. The bra was more of an issue- he would not be able to easily cut through the wire. Without needing instruction, Rachel lifted her arms up, clasping her hands behind her head to give him access to the wireless part of the back, under her armpit. He snipped through on either side and she lowered her arms again, the bra hanging off her frame by the shoulder straps.  
‘Do you know why I didn’t use the clasp, Rachel?’  
‘Because you want to destroy the garment, sir.’  
‘And why do I want to do that?’  
She thought for a minute.  
‘This is only for you, sir. If you destroy them, this will be an unrepeatable event.’  
‘Very good!’  
He helped her smoothly off the counter again, the underwear falling to the floor from between her thighs, revealing a neat triangle of dark hair. The straps of her bra were severed and it fell also to the floor, leaving her breasts cold in the apartment. She stared straight ahead, knowing he was studying her form.  
‘Remove your hair-tie, please.’  
She brought her hands up to her high ponytail and pulled the band down the length, leaving her hair to fall in a smooth curtain midway down her back.  
‘Good, very good. I don’t think we’re done here yet, though- some kind of mark should be left.’  
She brought her eyes to his.  
‘A marker pen, sir?’  
‘Oh, I think we can do better than that, don’t you?’  
‘Understood, sir.’

She walked over to a nearby drawer, resisting the temptation to swing her hips at all just because she knew he was watching, and removed a delicate silver scalpel. Walking back to him, she placed it in his outstretched palm. He reached inside his jacket, putting a sleek black lighter into her hand, and pulling out a handkerchief. Wrapping it around the scalpel’s metal handle, he waited until she’d flicked the lighter on, holding the blade carefully over the small flame for a few seconds.  
‘Never forget to sterilize, Rachel. Wouldn’t want you catching anything nasty, now, would we?’  
He took the now-closed lighter from her and slid it back into his pocket, along with the handkerchief. Then, putting one hand comfortingly on her shoulder, he brought the blade up to the dip in between her collarbones and drew it firmly downwards, slicing a line two inches long heading between her breasts. He stroked a thumb over the blood beading across the line, smudging it down her chest.  
‘How does that feel?’  
‘It stings, sir.’  
‘Good.’

They went into his bedroom, her following a few paces behind him. He took restraints out of a set of wooden drawers and made her stand against a wall decorated only with a high bar. Then, he waited for her to lift her arms, and cuffed her wrists together and then to the metal bar above her head. She looked at him expectantly, both of them oddly comfortable in their current imbalanced states of undress. He stroked a hand over her stomach, tracing the curve of a breast, considering. Then, going across the room and reaching into a closet, he selected a stiff black cane and brought it over to her, tapping it slowly against his knee while he thought.  
‘I think I’ll have ten strokes. How many strokes will I have, Rachel?’  
‘Ten, sir.’  
‘Very good. And what’s going to happen after each stroke?  
‘I’m going to… to tell you the number we’re on, sir?’  
‘Exactly! Aren’t you a clever little thing.’  
She focused calmly on him, watching his face. After a few seconds’ pause, he brought the cane down hard on the outside of her thigh.  
‘One!’  
He matched the red line forming on the other thigh with exactly the same speed.  
‘Two!’  
Going back to the right side, he stroked the tip of the cane across the previous mark and then, with incredible precision, brought it down a third time in exactly the same spot.  
‘Ah! Three!’  
He repeated this, too, on the other side.  
‘Four!’  
Again.  
‘Five! Ah, six!’  
The red welts were beginning to get deep.  
‘Open your legs wider, Miss Young.’  
She breathed in and then shuffled her feet further apart. He took the opportunity to run the slim tip of the cane along the inside of her leg and she shivered pleasantly, humming as a pulse of heat radiated through her. The stinging pain of the marks on her legs had muted into a warm, radiating pleasure. Sensing her relax, he brought the cane down swiftly twice more.  
‘Seven! Ah! E-Eight!  
He stroked his free hand fondly across the wounds, then, seeming to take pity on her, he brought the cane between her thighs one final time and rapped it hard twice along her cunt.  
‘Fuck!’ she moaned.  
He looked expectantly into her eyes.  
‘Nine, ten. Sir.’ she slurred.  
‘What else? Manners are important, Rachel.’  
‘Thank you.’  
He smiled beatifically down at her and went to put the cane back in its place. When he came back he put one hand over her neck again, this time high up close to her jaw, and forced her head up so she couldn’t see anything he was doing. He’d made it harder for her to take more than a shallow breath, pressing down on her windpipe. She felt his fingers suddenly against her, stroking the coarse hair between her thighs, testing. The slickness he found appeared to satisfy him, and he suddenly pushed two fingers up inside her, thrusting shallowly. Her eyes fluttered shut and she fought the urge to buck into his hand. He sped up his ministrations, adding a third finger. She whimpered at the way they fit inside her, the tension starting to build up in earnest. He curled his fingers slightly, hitting some fascinating spot that made her cry out. He chose that moment to slow down again, pulling his fingers all the way out and driving them back in at half the speed. Unable to stop herself, her legs snapped shut around his hand, trying to drive him deeper inside her, get him to reach that place he’d found before. He immediately withdrew altogether, wiping fluids across her hip.  
‘Ah-ah-ah, you know the rules, Miss Young. Who dictates the pace?’  
‘Y-y-you do, sir,’ she has trouble forcing the words out.  
‘Yes. I do. So, there’ll be no more of that. Are we clear?’  
‘Yes.’ It comes out barely a whisper and he acts like he hasn’t heard her at all.  
‘You know, Rachel, I don’t know if we are truly clear. But I’m sure I can find something to help you learn.’  
He took the hand away from her throat and her head immediately dropped limply forward. Going over to the wooden drawers again, he took out a bar with a cuff at either end and knelt at her feet to attach the cuffs to each of her ankles, forcing her legs open wide. He also brought over a smooth white silicone object, about the length of his hand and shaped like a large pill. He pushed it against her cunt, pressing a small black button with his thumb, and it began to vibrate. She let out an embarrassing little ‘ah!’ sound, jumping at the new sensation. The vibrator worked fast, and it’s only a few short minutes until she could feel every muscle in her body beginning to tense, anticipating release. She tried to hide it from him but he waited until she was so close to the edge the world had started to blur at the sides and then took it away all at once, turning it off. A desperate ‘no!’ forces its way out of her mouth but he went and sat on a chair against the opposite wall, pocketing the vibrator.  
‘This is what happens when you try to control the situation, Rachel. I do hope you’re learning from this.’

When she stops shaking he came back and presses the vibrator against her again, once again pushing her up to the edge and then turning it back off. It was shorter this time, but it took less to get her there. She muffled any words but he still managed to force an anguished groan out of her. The third time, it only took about thirty seconds before she was about to come, and she felt tears leak unbidden out from under her eyelashes. When she heard him start to cross the room for a fourth round, she couldn’t help herself, she started to beg.  
‘God, please, sir, I can’t… you have to…’  
‘I have to what, Miss Young?’  
‘You- I- please, please, I need-, I just-‘  
She couldn’t seem to manage a full sentence, even letting an accidental ‘Marcus’ make its way into the desperate stream of sounds. He raised his hand and she controlled the urge to twitch, anticipating a slap, but instead, he stroked a thumb gently across her cheek, smudging tears onto the pad of his thumb.  
‘I think, hmm, not quite yet. One more time.’  
She let out an agonized sob as he put the toy back between her legs, forcing her to the point again and then walking away. She knew that if the restraints weren’t keeping her to the bar she’d collapse, her legs far too weak to carry her. It seemed like no time at all before she heard his footsteps again.  
‘Sir, please, please- you won’t take it away this time?’  
‘You know I always keep my word, Miss Young. Look up at me, now.’  
He pressed the vibrator against her cunt and turned it back on, looking down at her as she stared desperately, dazedly, up into his strange black eyes. His expression was calm, almost passive. She could feel her lip quivering. She felt herself to be coiled impossibly tightly, as if she was going to snap in half. She was so close, so fucking close-  
‘Come, Miss Young.’  
Her muscles all started to spasm at once, her body jerking helplessly against the cuffs, a high, keening sound coming out of her mouth. The world rolled away from her for a few seconds before crashing back into place. She eventually refocused on his eyes but he didn’t take the toy away, a cold smile beginning to curl across his face. Her cunt was protesting, over sensitised and clenching around nothing. Her eyes widened slowly in fearful realisation.  
‘You can do better than a single orgasm, Rachel. We can do better. Again.’  
The pain felt like it was getting hotter and hotter until it seeped its way back into pleasure and she was startled to find she was there already, coming again, lights seeming to flash strangely out of her periphery. She was making helpless stuttering noises, her fingers tensing on nothing above her head, and still he didn’t turn it off.  
‘No- no, no- Ma-ah-ah-Mar-cus- no-‘  
‘Yes.’  
A fresh wave of tears started dripping down her cheeks, all her limbs twitching with aftershocks, she was so sure he couldn’t rip another orgasm out of her but just as she thought she was about to black out, he pressed an index finger firmly into the fresh cut on her chest and like that, with the harsh, sharp shot of pain, she shattered, screaming hoarsely, eyes pressed shut.

Finally, he took the toy away, transferring it to his other hand and wiping the hand that’d been holding it across her stomach- it would seem that her wetness had seeped over the toy and onto his fingertips. He bent down to undo the cuffs at her ankles, then wrapped a solid arm around her back and reached up to release her wrists. She immediately slumped against him and he held her firm, pressing a brief, uncharacteristic kiss to her forehead.  
‘You’ve managed to behave yourself extremely well, Rachel. I’m impressed!’  
Too weak to reply, she smiled softly against his shoulder. He set his other arm behind her knees and carried her effortlessly to the bed, sitting down and placing her between his legs with her back to his chest. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she could dimly see the light fixtures on the ceiling through half-closed eyes. He was running his fingers soothingly down her arms and turned his head to the side to kiss behind her ear.  
‘You’ve done so well today.’  
He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to him.  
‘Let nobody say that I don’t recognize good work! I’m so glad deem this to be worth your time and resources, Miss Young. You can expect your next performance report to be a glowing one.’  
His hand stroked over the mess he’d made of her hair, cupping her face in a gesture that, had it come from someone else, could have been called loving. Then he moved back, laying her prone form down as he left the bed.  
‘I’m going to get a cloth to clean up the mess between your legs and some antiseptic for that cut. I won’t be gone long.’  
She heard his footsteps move away from the bed and, stroking fingers softly along the trail of blood from the wound and her own fluids drying across her stomach, grinned to herself. She’d managed it, she thought- a life that was anything but boring.


End file.
